the machinery outside makes
long, consistent noises
so i forget about them and
do other things.
i wash the dishes
and collect thoughts
about the day.
i line the thoughts along
my thighs,
trip them over the hump of my kneecap.
i want the water back.
i miss the whispery frame of life
that followed by some silvery strings.
you’re so, so pretty, i sang
to the tall metal mechanisms
and slumped back against the couch.
